


youth

by knox_moreau



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andreil, Anyways, I mean, M/M, but not really, it's kinda neil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:46:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9107170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knox_moreau/pseuds/knox_moreau
Summary: Inspired by the song Youth by Daughter.





	

_If you’re still breathing, you’re the lucky ones  
Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs_

Andrew drew in smoke. Blew it out. Repeat. Drew in smoke. Blew it out. Repeat. Nothing really calmed him anymore because there was nothing to calm. At first, he smoked to calm. Now, he smoked from habit. From desperate wishes to find emotions. Andrew would never admit just how desperate he could become because that was a battle all his own. That was a battle he bore scars from, scars from his own hands. 

_And if you’re still bleeding, you’re the lucky ones  
Cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone_

Andrew’s arms were the battlefield, and his hands were the weapons. He figured he did this out of much the same reason he smoked. Habit. Desperation. Living. No, not living, because living meant having a heart, and having a heart meant vulnerability, and vulnerability was something Andrew could not bear. This was out of survival. Survival was reserved for the most desperate, the people who clawed at their skin and burned their insides to get along. The people who had nothing left.

_And if you’re in love, then you are the lucky one  
Cause most of us are bitter over someone_

But did Andrew really have nothing left? The last time he’d allowed himself to think about it he didn’t. But now, now things were different. How? How was anything different? The answer was simple, but it was an answer Andrew could not accept. He could not accept Abram into himself, but he had already. It had happened, and now, desperation clawed at his heart. It was not the same type of desperation Andrew had grown intimate with. It was desperation from a different place, from a place Andrew had long buried. It was feeling. It was standing on rooftops, it was his hand on the back of Abram’s neck, it was feeling, feeling, feeling. 

Andrew drew in smoke. Blew it out. Repeat. Drew in smoke. Blew it out. Repeat.


End file.
